


locked me out of your paradise

by aleunia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, coffee and flowers, complicated AF families, heaps of sex, soccer <3, there’s some brutally obscene shit in this what have I done, this is actually really fluffy and happy as it progresses I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleunia/pseuds/aleunia
Summary: Louis Tomlinson has possibly one of the most damaging family stories to come around, Zayn Malik has enough money to hide away his secrets, Liam Payne and Niall Horan are the moral support with too much personality, and Harry Styles has a rock-star name and too many tattoos, doesn't let anybody get too close and drinks too many mochas to be totally alright.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Authors Note

hi everybody!

**_I don’t see a lot of authors on here doing introductory notes to their works, and I thought for mine that it’s very necessary, considering the kind of content in this. So, please, before moving on to the fic immediately (do so if you wish, but don’t say I didn’t warn you), I recommend reading through this page._ **

I’m so happy to finally be sharing this work. I don’t think I’ve posted anything since January, which is horrendously strange considering I just had a huge active writing period where I got a whole load of my other fic written and ready to publish. 

Inspiration for this work really felt like a whole series of abrupt hit and runs. I kept on leaving it and coming back, leaving it and coming back, but now I’ve finally finished it and can’t describe how happy I am over that. 

**A little note:** this fic may be finished, but I haven’t actually edited a whole lot of it. It’s kind of a side project while I work on MLMHIBFTM, so please don’t think I’m going to be uploading chapters every day... Or something. I’ll be posting whenever I feel like it’s good enough to post, since this fic is kind of my favourite child out of my two chaptered ones on here. 

—> a huge thank you to my best mate, Spencer, for helping me through this and listening to my weird ideas at midnight for this work and making me see the common sense in leaving some parts out. I’ll let you know that there was literally a part where Zourry was involved in a breaking-and-entering incident... I can safely say that it has since been deleted permanently from any kind of device or internet platform. 

Music has always been morally important to me (sounds stupid, I know) and I actually used music as huge assistance to get through the tough moments. The title of this fic is actually very much derived from Locked Out of Heaven by Bruno Mars, since the song just hugely reminds me of the plot that I’d always envisioned for this.

So, in honour of music saving my ass, each chapter I’ll be giving a list of songs that I listened to while writing it (I have a whole document’s worth of songs. It’s mildly concerning).

I have a playlist of said songs [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2oxJPbdnjAhVlfjMb9Oe83?si=wcjcvRr_QtWJy8CLBmQo-g) in chronological order of which chapter they relate to. It _is_ better if you have Spotify Premium so you can listen to it in the order I've given, but it doesn't necessarily matter in the long run if you don't have premium. 

**If you’d like to get in touch with me for any reason, you can find me here:**

Instagram: [voidstyles_](https://www.instagram.com/voidstyles_/)  
Twitter: [91LOUSVOID](https://twitter.com/91LOUSVOID)  
Tumblr: [larrievoid](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/larrievoid)

I'm probably most active on Instagram, so if you're messaging me something urgent, please contact me through there! I'm currently setting up my Tumblr and Twitter to have 'threads' for each fic I write, so please be patient with me. I'm really trying.

A total side note and horrifyingly off topic, but (as you can surely tell) I really like the sound of the word 'void'...

|||  
  


**IMPORTANT NOTE:** I myself don’t actually know all that much about the United Kingdom’s education system, so please excuse me if I get some things mixed up with the Australian system (since I’m Australian/Kiwi). I know that they aren’t all that different, but I didn’t really put a huge amount of research into it to really confirm certain aspects (for example, what the fuck is college? Americans, please explain. Seriously. Your system is fucking mental). 

|||

**MAJOR DISCLAIMERS:**

None of this is real. Nada. This is a work of fiction. Please don't think that some of what I write is real, because almost none of it is. There are some canon-compliant elements (such as the matching tattoos - spoiler: they don’t have their matching tats before they meet each other. I fucking hate it in AUs when they do.) among other things (duh), but this story is in no way reality. Like, seriously. Please don’t go around telling people that any of the stuff in this fic is canon except for the stuff that ACTUALLY is and is KNOWN to be canon (again, like the tattoos). 

Okay, on to the more serious stuff.

This fic contains a HELL OF A LOT of sensitive and triggering material. There’s abuse/domestic violence, past rape + rape recovery, BIG undertones of suicide, recreational drug use, self-harm, extreme homophobia and unsafe sex (sex without protection. I shouldn’t need to give a Sex Ed class to explain why I’ve listed that as a sensitive topic), among other milder things. 

There’s also a LOT of sex in this (as the unprotected sex warning implied before), which could be uncomfortable for people unwilling to read MLM material. I would just like to say that I am in no way, shape or form fetishising MLM, and do not mean for it to come across that way. I myself am a non-binary individual who feels NO attraction to men whatsoever, meaning each explicit scene I wrote was very uncomfortable and felt clunky before they went under my very intense editing process.

Society has HUGE issues with WLW and MLM being fetishised (I myself have fallen victim to that with my girlfriend on multiple occasions. Also notice how most WLW porn is directed to straight male audiences... hmm), and it’s absolutely disgusting. I have no intentions EVER of adding to the shit pile that is fetishisation of peoples’ love. 

I had a lot of mixed feelings while writing this fic, purely because of the plot and content I decided to include. I still have mixed feelings about posting it. But, I can’t say that I’m not happy to be posting it after keeping it to myself for a selfishly long time, not when I’m so proud of it and proud of myself for using it as an outlet for my own personal trauma.

If you stayed until the end of this HUGE intro note, I love you so, so, SO much. Thank you thank you thank youuu. 

anyway, I’ll shut up. enjoy xx


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check ittttt it’s the first chapterrr ;)  
> TW // rich people 🔫  
> eat the rich.  
> (I’m a bit drunk.)
> 
> —> (added this when I was sober)  
>  **here’s the songs that inspired this chapter!**  
>  Party Poison - My Chemical Romance  
> weekend - Liam Payne  
> stranger - Jay Haydens and KingVodka  
> I Don’t Care - Fall Out Boy  
> dRuNk - ZAYN  
> Gorgeous - Taylor Swift  
> [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2oxJPbdnjAhVlfjMb9Oe83?si=wcjcvRr_QtWJy8CLBmQo-g)'s the complete chronological playlist for this fic.
> 
> you can find me here:  
> Instagram: [voidstyles_](https://www.instagram.com/voidstyles_/)  
> Twitter: [91LOUSVOID](https://twitter.com/91LOUSVOID)  
> Tumblr: [larrievoid](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/larrievoid)
> 
> Enjoy!

**_chapter one: “such a beautiful stranger.”_**

**_  
|||_ **

  
See, Louis Tomlinson usually hates rich people.

He finds it so easy to despise them, with their fancy cars and pricey blazers and hair infused with ridiculously expensive products that Louis can never even _think_ of buying on the weeks he restocks the groceries on behalf of his family (or just whenever he goes/sneaks out and has no clue what to do and ends up strolling to the nearest shopping centre).

He finds it incredibly easy to hate their swaggering walks and their airs of superiority that nobody really gives a shit about and their dumb watches that look more like one handcuff with how they clamp down on their dainty wrists. He doesn’t understand how some people can handle being _Bonded_ to those on the rich end of society. Like, being soulmates with somebody so stuck up and petty must be something like torture. Louis can’t even picture it. 

There's one exception to his strict _eat the rich_ law that he basically worships - his fellow Un-Bonded university dorm flatmate, Zayn Malik. 

He doesn't know why he can't find it within himself to hate Zayn like he hates every other rich person he's ever met. Zayn's possibly one of the most heavily loaded guys _ever,_ really, which provides Louis with the perfect reason to hate his guts, with his dark hair tinted with a glimmering silver and the dark circles under his eyes and his newest iPhone model and the proper weed joints that always cost a fortune.

Zayn, the rich Art student who Louis had known since they were twelve, who openly despises the idea of soulmates. Louis thinks maybe that’s why they’d been drawn together.

The younger boy's family have some stupid inheritance from decades back that's literally almost one _billion_ dollars, _plus_ his mother absolutely raking in the money with her 'running errands' (that's entirely undisclosed, by the way, but Zayn tells Louis _everything -_ absolutely everything. Louis literally knows every detail of Zayn’s first dabble in masturbation - so of course Louis knows about it), yet Louis absolutely cannot find it within himself to even remotely hate the guy.

He can't make himself hate Zayn's stupidly huge house that he’d been dragged to during most breaks between terms (mansion, fitted with a fifty-metre pool in the backyard and a whole floor dedicated to a cinema combined with gambling machines and alcohol storage) and horrifyingly expensive custom _Porsche_ with interior design that had cost around two-thousand pounds (yes, he did some digging after he'd first seen the vehicle and recreated the design on the website. Who even _wanted_ to spend thousands of dollars on the lining of the damn car seats?).

Sure, the fact that Zayn's mother has to deal with drug-addled and sex-deprived ex-stars and homewreckers who've turned to the hard shit for comfort is one of the most unfortunate parental tales Louis has ever heard in his _life,_ but again, they're getting along just fine (and it’s not like he’s a total newbie to drugs. Not at all). He doubts Zayn's family cares much for who they socialise with, considering they have enough cash to cover up anything too illegal or defaming. 

It doesn't matter that Zayn's family is basically a gold mine - despite his own personal values, Louis (reluctantly) calls Zayn his best mate. For life, probably. Best mates for life. 

And naturally, because they're best mates at uni in their twenties, they have a monthly tradition - throwing the most wicked party possible on the first Friday of each university term.

It'd started a year ago, roughly four months after they’d begged and _begged_ the university headmasters and finally been assigned a flat together on the University’s campus and Louis had resigned himself to maybe not hating every single rich person in existence.

It has always helped that Zayn’s house (mansion) is super close to the whole complex, making it always easy for them to go through when their ‘tradition’.

It works out perfectly every time, because Zayn's parents take their respective business trips during the first month of each term that they go back to uni, his mother off on another _job_ and his father back in the thick of the Law department, and the event has stuck firmly ever since. 

Louis can't say he regrets it, because it'd be a total lie. He gets to drink without being scrutinized by his family or other boring shits from back home in Doncaster (he loves the place (mostly. It’s complicated), but his closest mate from back home has somehow managed to score a place alongside Louis in one of the most prestigious universities in the UK, so he figures he can’t complain much), and he can get high off his arse on weed whenever he likes because Zayn's family can basically have access to anything they want (he doesn't do that often, though, considering he's a damn music student and needs to showcase his voice more often than not).

He can dance around with all of the people invited and lose his voice shouting the lyrics to whatever comes on over the speakers with his mates by his side, free of judgement or disdain or anything. He can have _fun._

Plus, before the party even starts, Louis gets to slink around Zayn's absolutely _massive_ three-story-mansion at the boy's side, setting up every detail they want (or claim they need) in order for the whole debacle to run as smoothly as possible (and for no insurance fees or unnecessary to come into play with Zayn's family. His dad had definitely not been impressed the last time he and Zayn's mother had returned home early from a business trip to find one of their terribly expensive chandeliers smashed to pieces on the nice tile of the kitchen floor. They may be entirely loaded, but that doesn't mean they're suddenly alright with spending extra money that they hadn't planned for). 

”We should phone up a stripper,” Louis calls down the overwhelmingly huge staircase, having seated himself on the railing of the second floor. “Stan mentioned he could do with one. Poor guy isn’t getting laid at all.”

The two boys had split up throughout the house an hour or so after Zayn’s parents’ departures, Louis doing the third floor (barricading off the main bedrooms so they won’t find any unpleasant surprises later) and Zayn doing the second and setting up all the alcohol at the bar in the kitchen area. Neither of them are going to touch the first floor, considering they never change it up (it’s the cinema level). 

Louis always prides himself on finishing before Zayn, entirely ignoring the fact that he doesn’t actually have that much to do in comparison to the boy.

Zayn’s laughter floats up from the first floor of his house, and Louis can picture him shaking his head in disbelief. “We are _not_ fixing up a stripper. Ever. Gross. Imagine having to supply the fucking _lingerie_. And to add on to that, I absolutely refuse to indorse Stan’s non-existent sex tropes. It isn’t going to be my fault if he goes ahead and Bonds with a stripper, no sir.”

Louis pouts playfully despite knowing Zayn can’t see him, having to fight viciously with himself to stifle a loud laugh at the thought of Stan, his dumb-yet-horrifyingly-smart best mate from home, Bonding with a _stripper._ Insane.

But he has to keep up his facade of being interested in having a stripper present, see, so he continues talking. “Why not? And hush about it being weird, Zaynie. Jus’ ‘cause you’re gay doesn’t mean strippers automatically become gross. I’m, _y’know_ \- “

He can’t say it, not yet, so he soldiers on, pretending to not hear Zayn’s sharp intake of breath, “ _that_ , too, and I’m fine with it. There are men strippers if you want one! We could get one for Stanny boy as a joke. That way you won’t actually be encouraging his sex life into flourishing.”

A snorted laugh from downstairs is all Louis gets in reply for a minute, and he’s nervous that Zayn’s hung up on his stumble like he usually is as the older of the two boys fumbles with the sleeve of his _Adidas_ hoodie. 

It’s - - it isn’t Louis’ fault that he can’t say it. It really isn’t. Zayn knows that, too, so he never reprimands Louis when he can’t make himself verbally accept it. It’s another trait his best friend possesses that just makes Louis so fucking thankful for him.

Zayn hasn’t said anything for a bit though, so Louis almost shouts at him to ask if he’s dead or something before he hears his friend’s familiar and soothing voice float back up the stairs.

”Can you imagine the conversation that’d cause with my dad?” The boy points out, amusement evident in his tone. “It’d be a roller-coaster and a half, for sure. _Hi dad, huge executive in the whole Law department. We invited a male stripper over to the house for a party that you never actually want me to host._ I’m not even out to my parents, Christ.” He breaks off, and Louis can almost picture him shaking his head and pinching the skin between his eyebrows.

”We don’t even have any facilities in here for that, anyway. I already find it hard enough to convince both of them that these parties aren’t going to kill people.” 

Louis makes a sound of reluctant agreement, brows furrowing slightly, willing to do anything to make his argument seem genuine. 

He kicks his legs like he would if he were sitting on the edge of a pool instead of the railing of the flight of stairs and makes a humming noise in the back of his throat. “What if your dad didn’t find out? We could set up the whole cinema complex for it. That place is easy enough to clean up. He never found out about the coke deal.”

It’s true - they’d been slick with that one, and Zayn’s parents remain blissfully oblivious to the fact that their falsely perfect rich son had taken his first proper hit of cocaine only a few months earlier.

Unfortunately, it’s for reasons like that that Louis knows, a little more vividly than he wishes, how easy the cinema room is to clean up. He’s fallen victim to cleaning out the space, incredibly hungover and panicking because he couldn’t remember if the dealers had left anything behind or not. He’d just been thankful at the time that the cinema area was so easy to fix and make spotless (and that all of the pills and joints and dust had been taken away. Louis figures he has a lot of people to thank for that). 

Having climbed the stairs to see Louis properly, Zayn fixes him with a wide-eyed stare, silver hair glimmering as the light from the nearest excessively large window catches the right angle. He’s wearing a white silk button-up shirt, with only one or two buttons _actually_ done up, exposing his chest and the slowly growing tattoo collection he’s got (he and Louis have matching _Bus 1_ tattoos on their arms, it being one of Louis’ favourites of his own tattoos). 

Louis has to fight back the urge to make fun of Zayn for his skinny jeans, the ridiculous pants clinging to the boy’s non-existent bum. Louis can’t relate - _his_ own black skinny jeans show off his arse _perfectly_. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Zayn eventually asks, incredulous. “You’ve never even expressed interest in strippers. ‘Member when you refused to come clubbing with me and Niall strictly _because_ the strippers would’ve made you uncomfortable?”

Niall is the third part of their quartet, Liam (a law major who can knock back so many shots it makes Louis want to vomit just thinking about it) being the fourth.

Louis considers their first ever interaction between them a year ago to be a pretty accurate grasp on their group’s… personality.

_"Zayn, what the fuck?" Louis gasped, seeing Zayn crash through their flat door with two other boys— well, only really one other boy, considering the two of them were holstering up a blonde who looked incredibly fucking wasted. "Who the hell are these people?"_

_Zayn just grinned, shaking his head. It was obvious that he was a little more than just mildly intoxicated. "Relax, Tommo. You like people. They don't bite."_

_Louis threw his hands up in a gesture of exasperation. "One of them looks so drunk I can hardly imagine him moving of his own free will!"_

_"He_ is _that drunk," the other stranger in the room explained in a tired voice, eyes glassy and hair messy. He'd clearly been drinking, too, but either he could handle the liquor better or hadn't had as much as the guy who Zayn was currently throwing on the plush white leather sofa._

_Louis cringed. "Don't let him throw up on that."_

_Zayn shrugged. "We can replace it."_

_Shaking his head, Louis found himself sharing a marginally despairing glance with the strange boy in the room who was standing instead of passed out on a surface of nice white leather. The boy was clearly muscled under his sweat-soaked shirt and had a lovely bone structure, framed perfectly by his hair, but Louis didn't find himself lingering on any of it. Surprisingly._

_"Oh, I apologise if I forget that you're rich sometimes, Zaynie," he said sarcastically, forcing himself to scowl. "Deeply sorry. If he vomits on your nice leather, you get to clean it up."_

_Zayn flipped him the bird. "Lou, you know I love you, but seriously. Shut it and get a bottle of water from the fridge."_

_Louis scoffed, hand on his hip, raising his eyebrows at his best mate in a sassy manner. "Excuse me if I want to actually know who these two strangers are and why all of you are mildly to majorly drunk. Apparently it's a crime to worry, now."_

_"I suppose introductions are in order," Zayn drawled in a voice that was clearly mocking Severus Snape - they'd just had a huge Harry Potter marathon, okay? - and Louis found himself biting down so hard on his lip that he drew blood in an attempt to suppress a short snort of laughter._

_The quiet boy raised his hand, looking awkward as he ruffled up his hair with a shake of his head. "I'm Liam," he mumbled softly, toeing at the nice carpet of the living area._

_"Law major. Went to high-school with this brat - " he paused to point at Zayn, who stuck his tongue out at him immaturely, "And graduated top eighty-percent of my class. Nice to meet you. I assume you're Louis? Zayn’s never shut up about you since we were like, thirteen."_

_Louis was a little astounded, nodding at Liam and finally letting himself crack a tiny smile. He couldn’t deny he felt a slap of exhilaration in his chest that the boy knew his name, even if he only knew it because of Zayn._

_"Good to meet ya, Liam,” he said, relaxing his posture. “You reek of law student vibes. Not a bad thing, just a fact. I feel bad that you had to deal with my best mate throughout high-school, lad. He's a pain in my arse now, has been since I met him as a twelvie. Very thankful we never went to the same school."_

_Liam shook his head, amused, letting himself look back up at Louis. "Try having to deal with him ever since you were ten. I'm nineteen now."_

_Grimacing playfully, Louis ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the smack Zayn tried to land on the back of his head. "I'm so sorry for you."_

_"Anyway," Zayn cut in pointedly, glaring at Louis and Liam each in other, the two boys sharing little grins. Louis hadn't even really noticed himself totally relaxing, but he didn't make himself tense back up._

_"The guy currently passed out on our couch is called Niall," the boy from Bradford explained, and Louis noticed how he was slurring his words just a little. "Known him since I was like, sixteen. Well, not proper known him, but like. Yeah. He's Irish, an eccentric maniac, and never shuts up. Kind of like you. Minus the Irish part."_

_Louis rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, because it wasn't obvious before that I'm not Irish."_

Niall had woken up some dumb number of hours later and promptly thrown up on that nice couch. Zayn had indeed gotten it replaced with one that was exactly the same. 

Zayn is the token rich kid, Louis is the academic one with daddy issues and endless pranks up his sleeve, Niall is the innocent-yet-not addition with little to no social skills, and Liam is the parental figure that they all biologically lack in one way or another who still doesn’t possess the usual sense of maturity that parents are supposed to have.

They fit together like a hand slides into a glove. Louis loves them. 

Louis smacks Zayn over the back of the head, somehow managing to not topple off the stair railing. “Wanker. That was one bloody time.”

Zayn shrugs, grinning. “Still happened.”

”Once!” His voice is shrill as he pouts and bats at Zayn’s shoulder, shrieking as his friend pulls him down from the railing and back on to the main platform. “And of course I’m joking, dumbarse. I don’t want to have to deal with the repercussions of having a whole _stripper_ in your home.” 

Zayn clicks his tongue, tugging Louis down into a headlock and ruffling up his hair affectionately. “So you _do_ have a little bit of common sense. I think you’re officially a changed man after so many years of neglecting reason.”

Snorting, Louis struggles in his friend’s hold and ends up kneeing him in the crotch, making his friend choke and try to curl in on himself, arms loosening around Louis’ neck.

Louis shoots out of his grip with a devilish grin. “Shut the fuck up, lad. I lack _all_ common sense. It’s, quite frankly, insulting of you to assume I have any at all. I haven’t even asked you for the guest list yet.” 

“Do you _want_ the guest list?”

He shakes his head, astounded, Zayn eyeing him with a little glare as he rubs over his clothed crotch to try and ease the ache Louis’ knee has definitely caused.

“Of course, you idiot!” He exclaims, melodramatic. “Why wouldn’t I want to know who’s coming here to get their arse absolutely wasted? I need to know who I can have fun with or not.”

Zayn plops down cross-legged on to the silky carpeted floor of the staircase landing, pulling his phone out from the back pocket of his black skinny jeans. “You murder me internally.”

”That sounds like I fuck you.” He has a point, to be fair. It _does_ sound like he fucks Zayn when his friend phrases it like that.

”Ew, Louis!” Zayn shrieks, but they’re both laughing as the younger of the two shakily taps out his phone passcode and opens the _Notes_ app. “As if I’d ever let you put your dick anywhere _near_ my fabulous arse.”

Louis smirks, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he also sinks to the floor, leaning back against the wood of the railing. ”But I have a monster cock, _and_ we’ve seen each other’s dicks on multiple occasions and you were pretty affectionate with mine—"

”Do you want to see this guest list or compliment your unimportant dick enough to compensate for our entire generation?” 

Louis is giggling as he snatches Zayn’s phone for himself after his friend finishes unlocking it and locating the guest list.

He scans the list of people with a squint, making small noises of approval as he read over the usual names.

Zayn scratches the back of his neck. “I invited all of the usuals, y’know? S’been a while since we’ve all been together, after all.”

Humming in agreement, continuing to scroll down the list as he responds. “There’s so many fuckers on this list, Zayn. Everyone else is gonna feel left out ‘cause of all of our group.”

”Niall will try and get them to drink with us,” Zayn points out with a nonchalant shrug, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “I doubt anybody will be left out - or sober.” 

Louis laughs. “True.”

He continues reading, fake gags as he reads some names of people whom he despises, and then - -

His heart does something funny in his chest and he feels his brain clock out for a moment, provoking him into taking a few deep and fast breaths.

Which, y’know, this reaction to the name doesn’t actually make any sense at all, considering he has no _fucking_ clue who this kid is.

“Who’s Harry Styles?”

There’s a brief pause between the two of them, before Zayn does something Louis has never even thought he’d ever do - he snatches his phone back from Louis, averting his eyes with a gentle flush creeping up his chest and leaking into his cheeks.

Like, an actual _blush,_ the soft shade of pink bright against Zayn’s darker skin and reminding Louis of a flowerbed. Zayn doesn’t _blush._ Never. Not once. Nada. 

It smacks him square in the face.

“Holy shit,” Louis breathes, choking a bit on his saliva as he sits across from his friend, frozen in place. “Did you get a _boyfriend?_ Is _that_ who this mister _Harry Styles_ is? He has a fucking rockstar name! Wait, oh my _god,_ did you Bond?”

Okay, so. Louis may not be one for the whole soulmate debacle, but he definitely cares about his best mate enough to ask. Just in case. 

”No!” Zayn shouts, slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes widen, his brain registering he’s being far too loud and the mansion is echoing with his voice (even without his parents home, Zayn is always mindful to keep his voice down in case his sisters haven’t snuck out of the house yet, as they usually do. Last time he’d assumed they’d up and left and he’d started blasting music, Waliyha had hit him in the face with one of her high heels).

Zayn inhales once before he continues, blush still high on his cheeks. “No, I didn’t. Harry isn’t my boyfriend, nor did we bond. He’s - -he’s just a friend, and another music student, so I’m surprised you guys don’t know each other. Taylor and Kriss know him. Kriss is like, one of his best mates.”

Kriss is possibly one of the best footie players Louis has ever had the honour of meeting. She’s wicked fast and smart with her movement, always getting past her opponents and leaving them significantly frazzled in her wake. She's a vibrant character, a total party animal and prankster, and Louis has always been a little more protective of her than he should be, considering they're not related at all. She's friendly, open-minded and fiercely loyal - a perfect friend.

It's probably one of the biggest shames of the century that she’s turned to cheap cocaine and weed after a few blessed years of partying without illicit substances. Louis knows for a fact that she’d be playing for England by now if she hadn’t tried the stuff inthe first place (although, he supposed he should’ve been belittling himself for it, considering he’d kind of encouraged the weed use. It wasn’t really his fault, though - apparently Kriss has had issues with drugs since she was fifteen. She’s nineteen now). 

And Taylor— 

Well.

Everyone knows who Taylor Swift is, but not everyone can say that they’ve seen her high off her ass, right after a horrific breakdown or right after she’s smacked someone in the face.

Louis has seen her in all of those moments. 

He’s still a little too caught up in his investigation to really process their involvement, though. He makes a disgruntled noise. “Then why are you blushing? I don’t fucking blush every time somebody says they want to get in your pants.”

Zayn’s cheeks are positively on fire. ”’M blushing because you’re embarrassin’ me!” Fair.

Louis is - - he’s stunned, to say the least. He’s never really expected to not know people that Zayn knows, their incomparable financial situations be damned. “Well, how do _you_ know him if he’s a music student and you’re an art student?” 

”Met him last year at a party,” Zayn admits, looking away from Louis as he locks his phone. Louis had reached the end of the list, anyway. “I think it was the one where you and Liam were doing body shots with Stan and Taylor. Leanne’s house-party? Yeah. Anyway, he was off in the corner on his own so I went over and we started talking. Been close ever since.”

That had been in June last year. Louis blinks a few times in quick succession.

”Describe him to me,” he demands, poking Zayn in the middle of the chest. “I wanna see if I’ll recognise him based on description.” 

He finds _himself_ blushing a little bit at his forwardness and intensity, and Zayn immediately picks up on it with a cheeky smirk that Louis has familiarised himself over the years with. 

”Why are you so interested?” A raised eyebrow. 

Louis makes a strange, heavily gesticulative movement with his hands in response. “Doesn’t matter. I wanna know what he looks like.” 

Humming, Zayn doesn’t really let up with the smirking as he begins to talk again.

”I mean... he’s tall, around 5’11, with long dark hair. It’s past his shoulders and super soft ‘n curly.” He breaks off to grin a little, shaking his head. “I swear he straightens it, because it’s ridiculously curly some days and then just wavy another. He - - this is gonna sound weird, but like - -“

And he’s blushing again, biting at his lip as he continues, “He has a really nice voice, ‘cause it’s like, slow and sweet and deep all at the same time. He wears nice clothes, like proper silk ‘n stuff, the feminine side of things. He paints his nails, too. Has a bunch of tattoos.”

_He paints his nails he paints his nails oh my fucking god he paints his nails._

Louis finds himself waiting for Zayn to keep going and tries to fight off the little wave of disappointment at his friend’s concluding shrug.

This Harry Styles - - Louis is honestly upset he can’t think of somebody who even remotely fits his description, except for perhaps Zayn.

But it’s also dumb for him to be wanting to hear more about a complete _stranger_ , so he intends to say _sounds neat_ or something to close off the conversation, but instead ends up blurting out, “He paints his nails?” 

Zayn grins, nodding. His blush has gone down by this point, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. He’s a proper professional at it. Has the nice SNS stuff that I got last time. He’s also, like, best friends with Niall, so it makes it super easy to communicate.” 

Louis remembers how damn smooth Zayn’s nails had been after he’d had his nails done with SNS, and feels his cheek dimpling a fraction, even at the tinge of completely uncalled for jealousy in his chest that two of his best mates know this insanely attractive guy called Harry Styles (Harry fucking Styles. A rockstar name) and he doesn’t. “That’s wicked, man.” 

Zayn pouts a little, a clear guilt-trip as he changes up the subject smoothly. “You still haven’t upheld your promise to me of getting yours done.” 

Louis finds himself thinking _thank god_ for the subject change, because - - well, he doesn’t really _know_ why, but his chest feels all fuzzy and he can’t think properly.

This stranger, this _Harry Styles,_ sounds magnificently captivating, and Louis is fairly touch-starved.

They don’t really correlate, but Louis blames it all on those two things, forcing it out of his brain.

“I’m _sorry,_ but I don’t have enough spare money for that,” he sasses back eventually, examining his own bitten-down nails at the same time. They really do need to be spiced up a little, but he’s not about to admit that. “Not for the fancy SNS stuff, that is.” 

That earns him a punch in the shoulder. ”Yes you do, Lou,” Zayn scowls. “You aren’t dead broke. You’re just lazy.”

”So what? I still have one of the highest grades in the entire uni.” 

It’s true, and he brings it up enough to make Zayn smile fondly and roll his eyes in reply.

”I’m dragging you down to the salon before the party tonight,” he says to break their brief silence, biting at his bottom lip to try and hide his grin (totally unsuccessfully).

The older boy chokes. How did they go from gossiping about a boy to discussing Louis getting his nails done? “Zayn, no - -“

”Yes,” the second of the two says decisively, already clambering to his feet and stuffing his phone away again. He yanks Louis up, too. “Louis, yes. I’m paying, too. Think of how many people are gonna die for you!” 

”That’s absurd! Both of those things!”

”No it isn’t. I’m rich,” his friend deadpans with a playful grin. “It won’t even begin to dent my account. So shut up and come with me.”

”At _least_ let me drive and pay you back later,” Louis begs, landing a hand on Zayn’s shoulder to balance himself. 

Zayn shakes his head. ”No way am I letting you drive my car. Way too expensive for your habitual recklessness. Just pay me back with a visit to an ice-cream parlour and we’re good.”

\--  
  
Louis can’t even lie - he’s majorly shocked that Zayn has managed to drag him out, quickly ringing up Niall as he slumps back in the ridiculously expensive passenger seat (all of the seats are possibly the most comfortable leather of all time, and Louis literally drooled over them the first time he sat in the vehicle), running a finger adorned with a silver ring along the little interior design notes and swirls on the door.

His best mate’s car is one of those stupidly costly _Teslas,_ and Louis also isn’t lying when he says he’d die to own one instead of his middle class _Volkswagen_. He'd genuinely die for one. It's borderline addictive with its comfortable seats and fancy high-tech functions that he can't properly understand and he absolutely cannot get enough of it.

He hears the noise from his phone indicating that it’s been picked up and he groans audibly.

“Niall, mate, you actually won’t fucking _believe_ what we’re doing right now,” Louis sighs into the phone as Zayn pulls up outside the local nail salon, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as Louis totally foregoes the usual greetings. 

There’s a cackle of pure amusement on the other end of the phone before the Irish blonde responds, _“Hello to you too, Lewis. Something illegal in regards to Zaynie’s wicked party later, I'm assumin'?”_

”Surprisingly not,” Zayn laughs into the speaker, making Louis slap him in the face as his friend fixes up his parallel parking alignments. 

A contemplative hum on the other side makes Louis snort, waiting for Niall to reply.

 _“Then, I’m stumped,”_ the boy admits in his thick accent, a noise of agreement from another person echoing through the speaker. _“Do indulge me. And Liam too, since he’s with me. Fuckin’ lazy slag didn’t wanna drive himself to the party.”_

Louis distantly hears Liam’s offended shout of protest and rolls his eyes at Zayn, who’s just locked in the handbrake.

When he hesitates to the respond, eyeing Zayn and silently asking for some kind of support, his mate sighs, smacks his shoulder and then steals the phone.

"Louis' gettin' his nails done," Zayn explains, flicking the car off after scrolling through the _Apple CarPlay_ settings and disabling the connection. He can easily do such an action without actually interacting with the car, but Louis suspects his friend does it to remind himself that he's literally driving a fucking _Tesla._ “He’s gettin’ prettied up so he gets laid.”

_“Come again?”_

Louis won’t make the joke.

He _won’t_.

He’s an adult. A _mature_ adult. 

Except he has to make the joke.

“No daddy, I can’t,” he whines into the phone, making Zayn cackle and almost knock himself out on the window as his head falls back and smacks against the tinted glass. 

_“I want to fucking slap you,”_ Liam says conversationally through the phone, tone totally serious, making Louis lean over the centre console to laugh into Zayn’s shoulder. It just makes him laugh harder hearing the unmistakable sound of Niall cackling in the background. _“I’m serious, Louis. I’m actually going to hit you the first minute I see you tonight. I have never once in my life ever desired to hear you moan the word ‘daddy’. It’s disgraceful.”_

Louis is grinning from ear to ear. “I can reassure you that I’m not the one moaning it in bed.”

He doesn’t need to be there in person to know that Liam’s hitting himself in the face with exasperation.

“He’s really not,” Zayn chimes in, smirking as Louis blindly pinches his cheek, leaving a red mark behind. “I can confirm from experience.”

Niall guffaws, the phone’s speakers making it sound tinny and hollow. _“You’ve been in bed with Lou? I never would’ve guessed.”_

“Yes,” Zayn says, all teasing and whiny, as if he can’t believe Niall could be so naïve and oblivious. “I have been in bed with him like, once, when we were fifteen. But this situation— No way. I’ve _heard_ him fucking someone before at one of the uni afterparties last semester. Had them moaning _daddy_ like no tomorrow. Seriously. It was very intense.”

“Hey!” Louis squawks, pouting at the exposure. Zayn just rolls his eyes and hits his best mate’s dick through his trousers.

 _“Why the fuck would you eavesdrop on that?”_ Liam questions, sounding absolutely dumbfounded. Louis almost feels bad for him.

“It’s in the best friend code, duh,” he says with a pointed look at Zayn. “ _You_ obviously aren’t truly one of our best mates if you haven’t heard any of us in bed before.”

_“Niall hasn’t!”_

Silence, before the blonde speaks. _“I cannot confirm nor deny that statement,”_ he says carefully, making Louis lose it again and set the phone down on the dashboard of Zayn’s car.

Speaking of Zayn, the second oldest of their quartet decides to interject with a fond glance back in Louis’ direction. “Anywho,” he starts, snatching the phone and holding it up closer to him so he could be heard properly. “We’re gonna be late for Mister Tomlinson’s appointment if we don’t get out of my car, _so_ we shall see you two hobos tonight at the party. Don’t break any chandeliers if you turn up early. You know where the spare key is.”

“I don’t wanna go in!” Louis whines, sounding like a child, and the last thing he hears from his friends not-present in the car are raspy giggles and muffled words as Zayn slaps the button to end the call.

“Too bad. You are, and you’re going to look fucking _bomb.”_

Louis still feels stiff and insecure, inexplicably, because he rarely ever felt insecure over this sort of thing, and if he did, he always found it easy to suppress.

Maybe it’s because this is something stereotypically feminine. Louis isn’t sexist, not in the slightest (he may or may not actually have a thing for guys who paint their nails, but he keeps that little fact to himself and his closest friends), but–

Just. Yeah. Something else nagging at the back of his brain must’ve been it. It’s not like he’s going to _tell_ Zayn that, though.

He probably doesn’t need to, because his best mate has grown up with him and seen him at his highest and his lowest (hell, they’ve gotten off together before, it’s kind of hard for them not to read each other like open books), and just _knows._

Zayn softens for a moment, eyes flickering with a mix of emotions at Louis has come to know all too well over the past few years and Louis _hates_ it, he fucking _hates it,_ so he shoots his friend a grin and announces loudly, “Fuck it, let’s go. I want to look like a _Rockstar_ and score a hookup or two.”

\--

“So, what are you looking to have done today?” The nail woman – Lissa, she’d introduced herself as earlier – asks Louis in a sweet tone, giving him a reassuring and almost sisterly smile. She couldn’t have been much older than seventeen or eighteen, with long dyed-red hair and a lip piercing that had automatically ensnared Louis into liking her well enough.

“I, uhm… I have no idea,” Louis admits nervously, cursing himself silently for sounding so unsure of himself. Zayn’s sitting in one of the waiting area chairs, immersed in whatever’s on his phone with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Louis’ at one of the nail stations, Lissa seated adjacent to him, watching him carefully. “I’ve… I’ve never done this before.”

“Ah, a newcomer,” Lissa comments with another one of those smiles, selecting the lotions and powders she needs to take care of whatever state Louis’ hands are in. “We get people like you almost daily. I mean, we can start simple. SNS or normal polish?”

“SNS.” They really are starting simple. “Zayn always tells me how great it is. He’s that git looking very antisocial on the waiting area chair.”

Lissa snorts in amusement but doesn’t respond directly to his comment. “Well, that’s easy. Do you have any colours in mind? Or would you prefer something clear?”

He pauses to think for a moment before he replies with, “I think a solid colour. Maybe black? I know it’s a shade, but like. Yeah.”

The lady smiles, finally beginning to tend to his nails. Louis honestly feels ridiculously pretty. “I was thinking something like that,” Lissa tells him confidently. “You didn’t look so sure that you wanted to do this before, and black is always a nice starter to get used to it.”

Louis laughs, and he surprises himself when he recognises that it doesn’t sound stiff or forced. 

“You get many guys in this place?” He asks curiously after five or so minutes of comfortable silence between them. He’s a little slumped in his chair, totally relaxed, the powders feeling lovely and soft on his tanned skin. “Like, asking for their nails painted. Not just spectating or being creepy.”

Lissa snorts in amusement, but doesn’t look up from her work as she talks. “I mean, not really.” She pauses for a moment while she officially prepares the black SNS coat and Louis knows his eyes just got a whole lot wider. 

The woman thinks for a moment before she opens her mouth again, a small frown on her face as she picks up the little brush and starts on Louis’ left hand. “Is it alright if I roll up your sleeves a little?"

It's instinctive when Louis shakes his head _no._ No way, zero possibility, nuh-uh. He wears this damn hoodie for a _reason._

Lissa doesn't press, and just continues on without a hiccup in her persona at all. "I suppose men aren’t really a nail salon’s target market," she responds in answer to his previous question, "Which probably drives off the ones too prideful to look past their habits of toxic masculinity. We don’t turn them away or anything, as I’m sure you can tell. Your friend over there is a regular.”

Louis snorts, relaxing once more, unable to really steal a glance in Zayn’s directly at that moment, but he isn’t surprised in the slightest. “Of course he is.”

Lissa hums, slowly painting over Louis’ nails in wide, practiced strokes. Louis finds himself more than just a little mesmerised. “I quite like having male customers,” she eventually says, voice softer than it had been before. “I think it gives me a little more hope that society is getting better with just... Letting people do what makes them happy, regardless of their physical appearance.”

Louis— he’s a little astonished that somebody working in a nail salon cares much for how bad the stereotypical toxic masculinity is. “You sound horrifyingly wise. I like it, though. Very, very good standpoint on whatever the hell society even is anymore.”

The woman smiles as she continues her careful work, a little dimple popping in her cheek.

Louis grins, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “I mean, sure. Having men in here definitely shows that there’s some hope left, but like. Eye candy? You gotta get some wicked guys in this place if they’re coming to get their nails done. Those ones are always the most attractive.” 

Lissa shakes her head in obvious amusement, moving on to Louis second hand. She's already set up the drying heater and positioned his already-done hand in front of it, dipping the brush back in the polish before returning to his nails and going over them in wide strokes. "I mean... Sure. We get some eye candy in here. We're more focused on actually _working_ than chatting up potential partners, though." She breaks off with a cheeky little smirk, before asking in a teasing tone, "Do you prefer looking for hot people than getting your pay?"

"Can't say too much on that topic, to be honest," he admits, admiring the practiced way she strokes the brush over his nails. He can never imagine himself having such good concentration on a small effort. "'M in uni at the moment, so I only have a part-time job. I'll let you know if my... _Eyes_ lead me astray in the future when I'm outta uni and in the real world."

Lissa looks a little taken aback as she finishes up his hand and guides him to place it on the little plush wrist rests as she'd done to his other palm before. "I didn't realise you were in university," she admits, gaze flickering over his face curiously. Usually, Louis blushes like a kid when somebody (a boy) looks over his face like that, like he's something pretty to look at, but he doesn't find himself doing that now (because, like, Lissa isn't- yeah). "I thought you were a little older, maybe twenty-four or five. Also, your right hand has finished drying if you want to take a look."

Louis shrugs, biting at his soft lower lip and averting his eyes as he procrastinates looking at his nails. He can feel his heart kick up a little with anxiousness. 

Everybody says that he looks older when he hasn't shaved, and usually it doesn't bother him, but. Like, this is a new person he'd met, and he can't exactly say the soft layer of stubble on his face is well-kept today. "People say that when I haven't shaved," he tells her in a quieter tone, shifting in his seat. "'M only twenty-two, but I look like I'm still in high-school without facial hair. Think that's why I don't really like to shave."

"Well, you'll be glad to here that I don't think you'd be very good 'eye candy' if you came in here clean-shaven," Lissa says, smiling as Louis squawks out an embarrassing kind of laugh and claps his hand with the dried polish over his mouth to conceal the noise. "Women don't necessary like to show interest in people who look like they're eighteen. Eighteen-year-olds are a bit mental."

He snorts. "You have no idea. High-school was wild." The words are a little muffled, since he hasn't lowered his hand yet, but he can't bring himself to because he'll actually _see_ his nails.

And like, okay, maybe he shouldn't be as freaked out as he's feeling, but this is _new to him._ He's never had his nails done up properly before, has never even been remotely interested in doing so, and he's suddenly expected to act like this is a minor thing.

Sure, it _is_ kind of a minor thing, especially considering some of the stuff happening in his life that he acts nonchalant over, but whatever. He's the only one who gets to dictate his reactions to certain things, so he won't let himself get caught up on any of it.

"Take a look," Lissa encourages, cranking up the power of the heater and leaning it in a little closer to Louis' left hand, the one still with the drying nails. "I promise you'll like what you see."

Taking the woman's word for it, he slowly pulls the hand away from his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek as he turns his hand over to look at the nails.

"Oh," he breathes out softly, not much more than a simple exhale of air. The black polish catches the soft white lighting of the studio, making it sparkle a little if he tilts his hand _just_ right. He runs his thumb over his middle finger's nail, making a weird kind of pleased noise at the smooth surface of it. "This is fucking _wicked."_

Lissa laughs, the noise almost motherly in its reassuring tone. "I told you black would be a lovely starter colour. It definitely suits you. Makes your eyes stand out a little more, what with the obvious contrast."

Louis can't really think up something more coherent or interesting to say, so he blurts out a very rough and shaky, "Thank you so much."

The woman reaches over the table to pat his shoulder in a friendly gesture before she flicks the heater off and rises from her seat. "It was my pleasure, Louis. You're all done now. Come up with me to the front desk and we'll finish up."

Louis- he's still stunned, examining his nails with an awed slack jaw. He hadn't been expecting to _like_ them as much, but like, he feels so _pretty,_ and like. Yeah. he can't really process much else in the moment, so he just stands up - and stumbles a little, mind you, eyes still fixed on his nails - and follows Lissa dumbly, looking thoroughly out of it and pleasantly surprised. 

Zayn's already leaning against the front desk, card slid in between his pointer and middle fingers, a wide grin on his face as he punches Louis' shoulder as a method of greeting. Louis only looks up then, and his friend has to bite down on his lip _hard_ to stop himself from laughing at Louis' expression. Louis just wordlessly shows him his nails, and Zayn's grin widens further.

"You look hot," he says, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. "Definitely fuckable. I love it. Makes your eyes stand out."

Louis just nods, his voice-box failing him as Lissa organises the scanner and Zayn holds his card up to it, shooting one of his signature smiles at the woman. Lissa just rolls her eyes and bats a hand at Zayn, eyelashes fluttering, and Zayn snorts before steering Louis out of the building before things escalate and they get stuck in some flirtatious battle (which often happens whenever Zayn gets anywhere _near_ shop workers. It's an awful habit). Louis hardly manages to call back another astonished _thank you_ before the glass door bangs shut behind them.

"I can't tell if you're shell-shocked out of love or hatred," Zayn whines as they climb back into the _Porsche_ and the younger of the two clicks the lock system, simultaneously turning the car back on with the little _Start_ ignition button to the left of the steering wheel. "Please, make it more obvious how you're feeling. I'm worried that I just wasted forty pounds on something you really, _really_ wish had never happened." 

Usually that's Louis' cue to comment on how forty pounds wouldn't even put a one-millimetre wide scratch in Zayn's bank account, but he can't make himself do it. 

"I love them," is all he says in response, going back to stroking over the smooth coloured surfaces with sparkling eyes. "They're like, _so_ bloody cool."

Zayn hums in the back of his throat. "Ah, so you're awestruck."

Louis nods, totally serious, without looking up from his hands. "Definitely."

Zayn just shakes his head in amusement before putting the car into _drive_ and pulling out of the parking spot, careful to remember to flick his indicator on (he usually forgets, and Louis always admonishes him for it later. Louis may be just as, if not _more_ reckless and dangerous than his friend, but he's always serious when it comes to how he drives). "You'll get used to it. Gotta give it a few more goes."

"Are you just saying that so you get to see me fuckin' shell-shocked more often than you usually do?" He may seem extremely paranoid, but it's a valid concern. For all Louis knows, Zayn has secret cameras set up in his car to record these types of moments and save them for embarrassing birthday PowerPoints. He's certainly rich enough to afford such car extensions. 

His friend just groans and pretends to bang his forehead on the steering wheel as he accelerates to the 70km/h speed limit and flicks on his indicator to turn left to a little side street called _May's Alley._

It's a little side road, pristine with old-fashioned white houses bordered by the nice picket fences. It’s part of the route that Louis uses to walk between Zayn's house and Niall's house, considering they're only a few blocks away from each other and the little street is a perfect direction that cuts a path right to the both of them. He's rather fond of it and its older-styled houses, vaguely reminding him of the Victorian ages that he doesn’t really _like_ to remember about from high-school. 

Zayn doesn't actually like driving it all that much because of the narrow roads and his fear of getting his car scratched (something Louis never fails to bully him for. Like, dude, seriously. If you’re afraid of scratching your car, don’t get one that hundreds of thousands of pounds), but he seems to be in favour of faster transport instead of safer at the moment. Besides, _May's Alley_ also provides much nicer scenery than the main roads that pass all the local schools and old-fashioned strip malls with people smoking pot on every lonely corner. 

Louis knocks his head against the window as they go over a pothole. “Can’t believe you don’t like this road. S’nice. Quiet.” 

Zayn just shakes his head, giving a valiant effort to fight off his affectionate smile. “ _Too_ quiet, if you ask me. No arcades, no local shops, no druggies. Even though it’s a fairly long street.”

Shrugging, Louis tilts his head a bit and doesn’t bother trying not to smile. “And here I was thinking I was the party animal of the two of us.”

—

The moment Zayn shoves open the extravagant wooden door that serves as the entrance to his mansion, he and Louis are greeted by a thick Irish voice and a mess of blonde hair that definitely hasn't been loved as much as it should've been throughout its lifespan.

"Lewis, Zayno!” Niall crows the moment he sees them walk through the door. The blonde himself has just finished making his way down the luxurious marble staircase, hand cumbersome and dirty-looking on the golden railing. “Nice to see that you didn't die on the road."

"Shut the fuck up, Niall," Zayn snaps playfully, ruffling up the blonde's hair in an affectionate manner as they step inside and Zayn slips off his coat, hanging it up on the rack just inside the now-closed door. "As if I'd crash my car when it costs more than what my entire wardrobe is valued."

Louis just shakes his head, biting down hard on his lip to suppress his cheeky snicker.

"Most of your wardrobe is designer, though," Niall protests, clearly not catching on. Louis just rolls his eyes and shoves past, not without hitting Niall in the crotch as greeting. the Irish boy squawks in retaliation and smacks Louis over the back of the head, making the older boy cackle almost devilishly as he darts away, still listening in on the conversation. "Like, I think at _least_ ninety-percent of it is Gucci." 

"Exactly."

”Hey, fuck you. We get it. Your car is more valuable than anything else - including this house. Ha-fucking-ha. Rich boy.” 

“Is Lima here?” Louis cuts in loudly before the two of his friends descend into another bitterly petty argument over whether Zayn’s money habits are too excessive or not (because that’s always what happens when something valuable of Zayn’s pops up in conversation, without fail).

”Over here, Lou,” comes a soft and friendly voice from the direction of the arched entryway to the cinema room, and Louis darts towards it like it’s a lifeline before Zayn or Niall can yell at him to support them in their side of the argument.

He sees the faint glow of Liam’s phone on the ridiculously huge leather lounge in the cinema room and flips over the back of the furniture, causing a squeak to sound up from underneath him and a knee rams into his ribs.

“Ow,” he winces, rubbing the heel of his palm over his ribs through his shirt.

” _You’re_ saying ‘ow’?” Liam hisses between his teeth, his mouth sounding close to Louis’ ear as he shoves the older boy off him and on to the floor, flicking on his phone torch.

The cinematic television is still firmly off; Liam doesn’t really like TV, Netflix or otherwise (he has a horrifyingly specific taste), and Louis hates him for it. 

Louis moans a little in pain as he lands awkwardly on his tailbone. “Yes, I am, Lima. Let me complain.” 

Liam groans a little, directing his phone torch downwards and accidentally flashing Louis right in the eyes with it.

Louis _shrieks,_ covering his eyes with his hands. “Fuck you!” He shouts, flipping Liam the bird with his eyes closed as his friend erupts into laughter. “Ow ow _ow_. My eyes actually fucking burn.”

Liam’s laugh is squawky and honest, and Louis can’t help but snort when his friend tries to speak through his laughter. ”Now you have a right to say ow,” Liam wheezes, and Louis doesn’t have to look up to know that his friend is grinning like a moron at him. “I don’t think my dick is shaped properly anymore because of you flipping over the couch on to me. Fuck’s sake.”

”I kneed your dick?”

”Yes!” 

"Payback for you not letting me blow you last year."

Liam promptly throws what Louis thinks is a shoe at the older boy's head, and they both collapse back into hysterical, slightly manic laughter. 

“I don’t regret that,” Liam wheezes after he’s caught his breath enough to talk. “Not lettin’ you blow me. I bet you’d be awful at it. Would stop to talk every three seconds.” 

“Hey!” Louis shouts, still flushed from laughing so hard as he leaps back up on to the couch, making Liam squeak in surprise. “I pride myself on the quality of my blowjobs, thank you very much. They’re a specialty.”

”He’s not lying,” comes Zayn’s voice as he and Niall enter the cinema room, flicking the lights on as they go. “He got me off wicked fast when I let him blow me. He’s very good— knows how to use his tongue right.” 

Niall cringes as the two join Liam and Louis on the sofa, the blonde forever their token straight. “Ew.” He's sat himself between Louis and Liam (possibly the worst decision of his life), while Zayn makes the smart choice and gets cozy in Liam's lap, fitting there perfectly. Louis will tease him for it _relentlessly_ later. 

"You should let me give you one, Niall," Louis says with a childish pout, batting his eyelashes and resting a dainty palm on Niall's bicep. "Maybe I'll be your awakening."

The Irish boy shakes his head, smiling fondly at Louis even as the older boy licks his lips suggestively and stupidly. "As flattering as your offer is, Louis," Niall teases, ruffling up Louis' hair, "I'll have to decline."

Louis huffs. "Rude. You're missing out."

Zayn reaches over Niall's chest and thwacks Louis in the face, grinning. The light catches his tattoos elegantly. "I don't think you'll ever be somebody's gay awakening, sweetheart. I'm afraid you don't have... The _facilities_ for that."

He's about to open his mouth and start a ridiculous argument with his best mate and say something like _well, mate, I guess the fact that I was your first crush, gave you a fucking blowjob_ and _you_ _admitted to me that I was_ your _gay awakening isn't valid now, huh,_ before Liam cuts in, ever the mediator (even if Louis suspects he's only cutting in now to save Zayn's dignity, because usually he's always down to see the two of them battle it out). 

"How about we fix up the bar down here?" He suggests weakly, biting the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling as Louis glares at him, salty. "Looks a little disorganised and bare, considering people are definitely going to be down here tonight."

Right, because Zayn had only down one of two bars that morning (because there's literally _two_ bars in his house, for fuck's sake) and of course it hadn't been the cinema room one. 

Zayn shrugs, poking his tongue out at Louis and the older boy has the sudden urge to grab it and twist it. "Sounds good, Lima. Shall we get to it, lads?" Zayn's grinning as he says it, springing out of Liam's lap and almost tripping over his own feet in a manner that was almost graceful (how does he even manage to trip over _gracefully?_ Louis is constantly baffled by his best friend). "If you find anything embarrassing or incriminating while cleaning it up... I suggest you hide it someplace or throw it out."

"What if it's your vibrator?" Louis snickers, ducking his head behind Niall's shoulder to avoid the shoe Zayn picks up and throws at him from the floor. Niall goes along with it, glaring at Zayn and cupping Louis' cheek with his huge calloused palm as if shielding him from attack. "What do we do if we find that?"

With some sort of embarrassed huff, Zayn grabs Liam's hand and yanks him to his feet, bright red in the cheeks when he looks back at Louis. "I can assure you that it isn't down here," he says carefully, "And nobody will _ever_ be finding it."

Niall's hand drops from Louis' stubbly cheek, jaw gaping as he stares at Zayn, faux-malice gone in the blink of an eye. "So you _do_ have one!" He exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger at Zayn. "I _knew_ it! I _fucking_ knew it!" 

"I've had it since high-school!" Zayn replies, cheeks still aflame, since there's no point in trying to avoid the subject now that all four of them know. "I'm _shocked_ you only found out right now. Like, you _knew_ me as a seventeen year old." Zayn breaks off to grimace, and the other three boys in the room cackle with laughter. "Like, you didn't know me very well, sure, but. Like. I was _so_ fucking horny."

Niall and Liam guffaw with laughter, Liam crouching on the ground so he doesn't fall over. Louis just watches it unfold before his eyes, gaze twinkling with amusement as he smirks at Zayn.

"Who says you're not horny anymore?" He points out with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "I know you wanked the last time I stayed over. Heard you moaning into your palm like a fucking teenager."

Zayn frowns, looking contemplative as he completely ignores Niall falling off the couch with how hard he's laughing, dislodging Louis from his comfortable position tucked into the blonde's side. "Last time you stayed over," his best friend repeats slowly. "Which was yesterday."

Louis leans back, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow raised. "Precisely. I rest my case."

"I thought you were sleeping!"

"Well, I _clearly_ wasn't."

There's a few more minutes of childish bickering between them all before they finally drag their attention back to fixing up the bar for the party in an hour or two, Liam and Niall going to find the stools littered about the cinema room while Louis and Zayn pair off to set the drinks up.

"I hate you," Zayn mutters to Louis the minute they're behind the bar's counter, Louis crouching at the little wine fridge to fresh out some of the alcohol to serve during the night. "I really, really hate you."

Louis grins to himself. "Only sometimes. You couldn't live with me."

"I totally could."

"Oh, please. Admit it that you couldn't. Your life would be _so_ boring without your best mate in it."

—

They’ve just finished organising the alcohol properly in the cinema bar (because Louis and Zayn forgot before), Niall and Liam sitting at the bar stools with Zayn and Louis leaning on the other side, when it comes out of the blue. No warning, no prior notice, nada.

Louis thinks some kind of warning would’ve been nice, since he chokes on his spit and ends up dry-retching in the nearest sink in the bar.

”Do you think there’d be a big price difference between a normal dildo and a sparkly one?”

Liam’s the only one who can reply, the only one who’s not too stunned. ”What the fuck, Niall.”

Niall makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and frowns, pouting. ”’M just _asking—“_

Louis’ still coughing his guts up into the sink with Zayn clapping him on the back when the latter decides to interject, having recovered enough from the initial surprise. 

He sounds far too nonchalant to be alright, but Louis is too busy trying not to die in his friend’s mansion to care much.

”There isn’t usually a huge difference, no,” Zayn starts, effectively shutting up Liam and Niall while they bicker pointlessly, “But sparkly or veiny ones are usually a little more pricey. What, do you want one? I can buy one for you.”

”Okay,” Niall responds after a few contemplative moments. “Good to know. But like, no. Don’t want one, especially not if you buy it for me. That’s just creepy.” He frowns in disdain, as if the very idea of Zayn purchasing a sex toy for him makes him want to throw up all on their friend’s nice rich shoes. 

“Then... Why did you even want to know?” Louis asks after catching his breath, voice raspy. Zayn just pats his shoulder and grins.

“General curiosity!” Niall squawks, cheeks red in embarrassment as he rests his cheek against the cool marble of the bar countertop. “And like, all of you like dick, so I thought you’d be the perfect crowd to ask! _Excuse_ me for having common sense.”

Liam’s bright red in the face too, but he’s laughing with Zayn at Niall’s humiliation. Louis just shakes his head, rubbing the back of his palm across his lips. 

"On the topic of sexual tropes,” he starts, feeling bad for Niall and wanting to take the attention away from him. “We should make a pact to have a foursome tonight if none of us get laid."

Zayn chokes, his hand kind of missing Louis’ shoulder and hitting his neck instead. "That's an even _bigger_ what the fuck."

Liam throws his hands up, almost falling backwards on the bar stool at the same time Niall bolts up straight in his seat.

“No way, lads,” Liam announces, bringing his hands down on the countertop. “One of you probably has a piss kink or something. I don’t want to be pissed on, thank you very much.”

”Oi!” Zayn shouts, but he’s laughing along with the rest of them. “No kink-shaming in this household. Even if said kink is terribly strange.” 

“Fair enough,” Liam sniffs, shaking his head affectionately, “But if _any_ of you have a piss kink and I find out, I’m sorry, but that’s the end of our friendship.”

—

Somehow, the four manage to waste time away with their childish bickering, and only a little while later they find themselves sprawled across the cinema room couch with the first arrive-ees of the party. The music is thrumming through the mansion, LED lights flashing above, and Louis is already on his second drink of the night – just a straight, heavy beer. He’d gotten changed earlier into something more fitting: a sheer black top, charcoal ripped jeans and black vans, the fit showing off his tattoos and muscles from footy.

“Any pretty boys coming tonight?” Taylor asks with wide eyes as she takes an innocent sip from her glass of champagne, always fancy. Louis can’t even fathom drinking anything but beer or shots at parties, however rich or low-key they are. He’s honestly kind of surprised Taylor showed up – she’d mentioned a few weeks ago that she’s planning on dropping another album soon and is going to focus on writing for a bit, so Louis had just assumed that she wouldn’t have been able to come.

It’s safe to say that he’s glad she’s there, always radiant and kind.

Louis rolls his eyes, shrugging as he takes another sip of his beer. “Dunno if you’d call them pretty.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Taylor rolls her eyes right back at him. “What _would_ you call them, then? Ruggedly handsome? Strangely intense? Objectively gorgeous? I need details.”

Louis throws his hands up in exasperation, shooting his friend a pointed look. Taylor just laughs and pokes her tongue out at him childishly.

Kendall elbows Taylor in the ribs, giggling fondly. “Why does it matter to you?” She teases, tickling Taylor’s ribs and making the other girl squeal and squirm at the funny sensation. “You’re not much into boys. I can’t say I blame you.”

Kendall’s another university student that Louis and Zayn met on campus through Taylor, and she’s studying Design and Law. Louis isn’t as close with her as Zayn and Niall are, but she’s relaxed and funny so he’s never not glad to have her around.

Louis feels a lot like he’s third-wheeling when Taylor bats her eyelashes at Kendall, grinning as she says, “I was asking for you, darling.” 

Zayn chooses that moment to return from the bar with his own drink, tattoos on display with his new outfit choice of a graphic tank top and black skinny ripped jeans.

”Pretty boy Styles is comin’ tonight,” he interjects, nudging Louis’ shoulder affectionately as he takes a seat on the back of the lounge, an expensive looking shots glass clutched in his hand. “If he’s your kind of pretty, then yes, pretty boys are coming tonight. Sent Louis into a right breakdown when I described the guy to him.”

Louis splutters in protest as some more guests filter into the room (Niall and Liam are upstairs monitoring the people not on the cinema level, making sure nothing is stolen or broken).

He tries to slap Zayn in the face and fails miserably while Taylor and Kendall laugh, utterly amused.

“I handled it fine, thank you very much,” Louis announces, feeling his cheeks flush a bit pink. “You can’t expect me to be totally cool when you tell me about someone as— as _unique_ as him.” Unique. Safe words. Safe ground. He gives himself a mental high-five. 

“Unique?” Taylor repeats slowly, thoroughly amused. “Oh my god. You’re whipped for somebody that you don’t even know.”

“Am _not!”_ He protests loudly, taking another long drink of his beer.

Kendall and Zayn are just spectating the argument fondly, Zayn’s eyes most likely about to get stuck in his brain if he keeps on rolling them.

“Okay, well you’re at _least_ in the midst of a gay panic,” Taylor argues, and Louis can’t even tell her that she’s wrong, because she’s not.

Shaking his head at the blonde affectionately, Louis knocks back the rest of his beer and turns around to go back to the bar setup for a refill, running a hand through his soft hair, damp with sweat from all the dancing and shouting.

Louis sees him then. 

He’s leaning against the wall in a long-sleeved, sheer black button-up silk shirt left undone so that most of his chest is exposed and dark skinny jeans that show off his toned thighs, sipping at a cup of what looks like takeaway _Starbucks._ He has long hair that brushes down past his shoulders and tattoos faintly visible on his chest and arms through the shirt (he has _so_ many tattoos that Louis might drop to his knees, honestly) and a sharp jawline and cheekbones that catch each glimmer of light so perfectly that he looks like a piece of art.

And his nails are _painted_. Louis can’t really make out what specific colour (or colours) they are because of the shifting LED lights throughout the house, but he finds himself staring at them like a creep. 

This boy - -

Absolutely ethereal. 

And all he’s doing is leaning against the wall of Zayn’s cinema-room-turned-drunken-games-room. Louis is positively shocked that this beautiful boy that looks like a rock-star isn’t being surrounded and swarmed and dragged upstairs by horny uni students already. 

Louis hasn’t noticed that he’s frozen in place until Taylor nudges her hip against his affectionately.

“You should go talk to him,” Taylor says, smile warm and reassuring as she slings a casual arm over Louis’ slim and muscular shoulders. “You’re looking at him all creepily. Think it’d be better to just chat him up instead of stare directly like some weird pedo.”

Louis shakes his head a little, biting at his lip nervously. “How am I even supposed to speak to somebody like that?” He complains, twisting his head sideways so he can look at Taylor with a desperate kind of cluelessness. He runs his thumb over the smoothness of his painted middle fingernail. “He’s—fuck, I dunno know— he’s so _pretty._ Probably got a partner or something. And why on Earth would he want to even talk to some tiny stranger at Zayn Malik’s house-party?”

Taylor just squeezes his shoulder with an affectionate eyeroll. “You think too much, Lou. Yes, he’s ridiculously pretty and _definitely_ a romantic magnet, but what’s the harm in just… Being _friendly_ with him?” Louis opens his mouth to protest _violently,_ but Taylor just holds a finger to his lips and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Talk to him like how you spoke to Kendall when I first introduced her to you,” she suggests after a few moments of contemplative silence between the two of them. “And then slowly feel out whether you can be more like how you are normally based on how he acts. It’s pretty simple. Human interaction generally is.”

Louis scoffs, knocking their shoulders together and gently setting his empty cup down on the nearest flat surface. “For you, maybe. I’ve never been much of a people person.”

Taylor levels him with a glare and a pout. “Just get off your ass and _talk_ to him, or I will. And I’m not kidding. I’ll even try to look past the fact that I’m not much into men because _holy shit.”_

Louis can’t help but laugh and feels some of the tension lift from his shoulders as he steps away from Taylor’s comforting presence. “Fine, milady. I’ll give it a shot.”

He leaves before he can receive another lecture, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans subconsciously, sauntering over to where the boy is leaning against the wall, eyes darting around the room almost anxiously.

“You’re Harry Styles, aren’t you?” Louis shouts over the _Pour It Up_ remix blasting obnoxiously throughout the mansion as he walks up to the boy, a friendly smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles in his pockets.

The long-haired curly boy looks at him with wide eyes, eyelashes cluttering prettily against his sharp cheeks. He clutches his _Starbucks_ cup closer to his chest in an almost anxious movement, eying Louis curiously before looking away and shifting his weight from foot to foot, biting at his lip. 

Louis is starting to get a bit nervous over how long Harry was taking to respond, but just as he opens his mouth to apologise and walk off and then (most likely) drunkenly complain about it to Zayn, Niall or Liam, Harry cuts in. 

”How’d you know me?” He asks, voice soft and slow like honey and molasses, rich and deep like the ocean. It’s a steadying sound - an anchor in a sea of unforgiving noise that doesn’t hesitate to drown you out if you don’t fight back hard enough.

 _If only he had blue eyes instead of green_ , Louis thinks, biting the inside of his cheek. _Then the ocean simile would work perfectly. The green still suits him wonderfully, though._

Maybe he needs a bit more to drink so his heart doesn’t actually combust in his chest from how hard it’s beating. Or maybe he needs more to drink so his brain doesn’t go into hyperactive mode and scare Harry Styles away, this timid boy with long hair and coffee in the middle of the biggest party in the neighbourhood.

Louis has to fight against his melting brain to be able to continue speaking. “Zayn mentioned you earlier. Said you’re a music student, like me.” 

“Zayn told you about me?” Unfortunately, even if his voice is so fucking beautiful that it literally makes Louis _swoon_ on the spot, it’s much quieter than Louis’, making the smaller boy strain to hear him properly. 

Louis waits for a moment, realises Harry’s done speaking when the boy takes a sip of his coffee, and then talks again, words slightly slurred. ”Yeah, he did. Said you’re smart ‘n talented but also quiet. Said you’ve written some music for some big popstars. Wish I could say the same, since we’re both music students. You sound awesome.”

Harry sort of just... stands there. He looks completely shocked, like somebody has just told him that the conspiracy of humanity being a simulation has just been confirmed to be true. Louis just raises an eyebrow.

Flustered, the quiet boy turns away and runs his free hand through his long and soft-looking hair. “Thanks,” he murmurs, smiling shyly to himself.

Louis shrugs, embarrassed at the light flush on the cheeks. “No problem, lad.” He breaks off, contemplative, before he just goes for it with a cheeky grin.

“So, what’s your story?” He starts, grinning at the wide-eyed and slightly-worried look Harry shoots him. “Bonded, Un-Bonded, sex-deprived drug addict?”

Louis thinks his heart may just explode when Harry laughs, all warm and lovely as he shakes his head, tension leaking out of his shoulders as he relaxes into the conversation.

“Un-Bonded musician with a lacking career, I’m afraid,” he answers with another snort chuckle, such an endearing sound that Louis almost, _almost_ reached out to poke the boy’s dimple affectionately. “And a tattoo addict. Not as exciting as a, I quote, _sex-deprived drug addict,_ but still an addict.”

Louis giggles, clapping an embarrassed hand over his mouth to muffle the sound as he bits at his lip. Harry watches him fondly, reaching out a hand to ruffle up Louis’ hair as if they’ve known each other for years. The gesture is so kind that Louis almost collapses.

"You've got tattoos, too," Harry comments off-handedly, lacing an unsure and shaking hand around Louis' slim wrist (holy _shit,_ his entire hand wraps around Louis' wrist, _holy shit)_ and pulling his hand away from Louis’ mouth so he can see properly _._

Louis can't help but flush bright red in the face at the gesture, twisting his arm so Harry can have a clearer view of the sketchpad that is Louis' forearm of tattoos. There's some spaces in between the meaningless and fun ones, and Louis is going to be _really_ embarrassed if Harry asks why, but it's honestly fairly pathetic and domestic and _cheesy._

Louis can't really comprehend how glad he is that he hasn't, like, _done_ anything to himself recently that's added to the faint scars already littering his skin, from his wrists and arms to his stomach and ribs and hell, even his thighs (at least those aren't for show, because the scarring there is still worse than the stuff on his arms). The older scars are faded and paler than his actual skin, definitely still noticeable, and he has to valiantly stop himself from yanking his arm back to his chest and retreating away into a place in the mansion where Harry will never find him again.

He feels Harry's eyes lingering on the scars, sees them visibly widen in concern, and he immediately cuts in before the curly boy can say anything on it. "Yeah," is all he says, biting at the inside of his cheek. "Almost as many as you, I reckon. I don't think I'm quite used to the pain yet, though. S'always a bit uncomfortable." An obvious lie, considering the lines all along his exposed skin. Sure, the tattoo needle hurts a lot more than the cuts, just because of how concentrated the needle always is in comparison to the cuts Louis has inflicted before, but like, his pain tolerance is definitely higher than he implies.

Harry kind of half-smiles, but doesn't reply or offer up him relating to any of what Louis said. Louis' mind immediately drifts to something dirty on instinct (it really isn't his fault, okay? He grew up around Zayn, who literally lost his virginity at the horrifying age of fifteen. _Fifteen),_ that perhaps Harry _likes_ the sharp pain of the tattoo needle, but he definitely does _not_ have the balls to bring it up or ask any kind of questions about it.

Harry's Adams-apple bobs in his throat as his eyes flick up and down Louis' forearm and linger on his wrists again, where the scars are significantly paler, proof of how deep they'd been when they were done, before he visibly wrenches his eyes away from the sight, looking paler than he'd been only a few minutes before. Louis can't help but feel an overwhelming train of guilt hit him square in the chest. 

"I like yours a lot," the younger of the two eventually adds, dropping Louis' arm with a soft pink blush slowly rising on his cheeks. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and takes another swift sip of his drink before he gulps and adds on to his sentence, "They're cool. Like, really cool. Kind of playful. I think that's what you're like."

Louis- he. Wow. He shouldn't be so affected by those words- he absolutely _should not be that affected,_ not at _all._ He's never so easy, never so affected by fucking s _trangers_ in big ass house-parties that he's supposed to be drunk at and getting high with Zayn. But nonetheless, he finds himself forcing the blood not to rush into his cheeks and down his throat like it usually does when he gets excited or flirty, finds himself fidgeting where he's standing and scratches his nails over his palms.

Louis is about to chuckle and say _yeah, sounds about right,_ in response to Harry's words when he notices an instant change in the boy's expression as a loud boom of moving echoes throughout the mansion. 

His eyes widen and he ducks his head, batting his eyelashes furiously and taking another sip from his drink, hands shaking slightly. Louis can’t help but frown a little, reaching out a concerned hand and gently caressing his thumb over the boy’s shoulder through his shirt. Harry doesn’t look at him, just continues drinking before he stops with a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

Louis can’t help but break the slightly tensed silence between the two of them.

“Now that you mentioned it before... Why are you drinking a mocha at a house party?” Louis blurts out, utterly confused and taken aback as Harry takes another tentative sip of the drink, licking at his lips to make sure there isn’t any of the liquid there.

He shrugs, looking away with a light pink flush on his cheeks. “I always drink them. S‘nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say on this, really, other than I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. The second chapter is currently undergoing a HUGE re-edit, so please don’t assume that I’m going to be publishing this all in one hit. 
> 
> Thank you for all the support on my past fics, and I really hope this one serves what I thought it would. I started it for just a bit of fun and it quickly scaled out of control, so don't let me waste anymore hyperactivity if you haven't enjoyed what I'm writing.
> 
> To close off for this footnote, I hope you all have a fantastic day/night, and enjoy yourselves! Don't treat life too seriously, because nobody makes it out alive, anyway.


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